Remember the Living
by imanerd225
Summary: Carl is harboring suppressed emotions, and Hershel sets Rick to the task of helping him and maybe helping himself in the process. *This takes place sometime in the beginning of Season 4.


To the others, Carl looked strong. Fierce, even. Since Lori had died, a scowl had drawn itself permanently on his face. Even now that Rick was back to normal and the people from Woodbury were living peacefully in the now thriving prison, it was rare to see a smile on Carl's face.

While this might have passed through others' minds without a second thought or alarm, Hershel, after careful observation, was beginning to think that there must be suppressed emotions hidden beneath the boy's stony expression. With this worry in mind, he went to Rick.

The boy's father was working in the field when Hershel approached him.

"I'm worried about Carl," Hershel said. He wasn't always so blunt, but this was not the time for a lesson.

"What happened?" Rick looked up in alarm and dropped the pail he was holding, his hand automatically flying to where his gun used to be holstered on his belt.

Hershel lifted a hand to stop him from rushing back towards the cell blocks. "Your boy is safe," he assured him. He spoke slowly, choosing his words carefully. "He is growing to be a very capable young man. I'm more worried about what's going on in here," pointing at his temple, "and here," poking himself in the chest over his heart.

Rick gave him an unreadable look, thinking of a way to respond. "Carl's been doing well enough since I took his gun," he said, bending to pick up his pail.

"It may look that way from the outside. But we've all been through a lot — he's no exception to that — and no one could do what he's had to do and come out of that okay."

"I know that," Rick sighed, bringing a hand up to wipe the sweat from his forehead, "I do."

"Then talk to him. Rick, he's still a boy; he needs his father."

Rick just nodded in agreement. He knew Hershel was right, and he hated how much he was dreasing the imminent conversation with his son.

Later that night, Rick knocked on the doorway to Carl's cell and poked his head in. Carl was lying on his bunk, absentmindedly fiddling with the strings on his dad's sheriff hat that was sitting on his stomach.

"Hey," Rick said, coming in to sit on the edge of the bed. He patted the space next to him. "Why don't you sit up? We need to talk."

"Sure," Carl said quietly without looking up. Rick realized suddenly that that's how Carl had said just about everything lately.

"How have you been doing?" he asked his son.

"Fine."

Rick furrowed his brow. He'd been expecting a vague answer, but he still had to think about how to respond. "I'm not so sure about that." He looked at him expectantly. Carl kept his eyes on his lap. When it became apparent that Carl wasn't going to answer, Rick sighed. "I'm sorry you had to… do that...you know, with Mom." He could feel himself starting to choke up, and he cleared his throat. "I should've been there. You shouldn't have had to do that. You shouldn't have had to do any of what you've done since —"

"But I did," Carl suddenly exclaimed. "And I do. And nothing you can say or do is going to make that go away!"

For a moment, there was silence as Rick looked down at Carl's fierce blue eyes in surprise at the sudden outburst. Then, Carl tore his gaze away and looked down at the sheriff's hat in his lap.

"When Rick got ahold of himself, he spoke, breaking the silence. "Carl…" He placed a hand on his son's shoulder firmly but gently as if to tell him wordlessly that he was there for him for protection but also for comfort. "I know that I can't change anything," he said quietly. "And I won't always be here. But I'm here now. I need you to remember that." He moved his hand up to ruffle Carl's hair. "If you ever need anything, you come tell me, alright?"

Carl nodded without looking up or saying a word. He felt tears well up in his eyes as a sudden flood of emotion hit him. Ever since he had shot his mom, he had felt so alone. But he had his dad. And they had a family. He let out a shaky breath and sniffled, wiping his sleeve across his wet eyes.

"C'mere," Rick moved his arm across his son's back and pulled him close, resting his chin on Carl's head. With his face buried in his dad's shoulder, Carl wrapped his arms around his waist and began to cry, releasing the sadness and grief he'd been holding inside. "Sh… it's okay," Rick comforted, rubbing soothing circles on Carl's back as he felt the tears seep through his shirt. "We have each other. We're going to be alright."

After Carl had calmed down a bit, Rick held him out at arms length, clasping his shoulders. He looked at his son's tear-streaked face and felt tears of his own prickle at the back of his eyes. Hershel had known what he was doing. Rick needed this talk just as much as Carl did. And he was pretty sure that Hershel had known that all along.

"I love you, Carl," Rick said. "I'm so proud of you. And Mom was proud of you, too."

By now, tears were pouring freely down both of their faces. Carl wrapped his arms around his dad's neck again a fierce hug. Looking down at his son, Rick realized just how young Carl really was. He held him close and stroked his hair. _"What would I do if I lost him?_


End file.
